“Yeah, yeah. Should have known you’d have some bullshit reason. Just keep it out of my face.”
“Is it clearing out there?” Coilla asked.
Haskeer poked his head round the corner. “Looks like it.”
“Shall we make a break?”
“Yeah. Our lot are somewhere down on the right.” He turned to Wheam. “That’s that way.” He jabbed his thumb rightward. “’Case it’s too hard for you to work out.”
“Soon as we’re out of here, Wheam, just run,” Coilla told him. “Fast.”
He nodded.
“Ready?” Haskeer said. “Right. Three… two… go!”
They came out of the alley at a dash, swerved right and started racing through the debris of the ruined market. There were overturned stalls and fallen orcs and humans among the trampled fruit and vegetables, broken pottery and strewn clothing.
Coilla looked back. “We’ve company!”
A large gang of soldiers had appeared and were chasing them.
Wheam, at the rear, was struggling to keep up with Coilla and Haskeer.
“Come on!” Coilla urged. “Move it!”
One trooper, a strong runner, was well ahead of the pack and gaining on Wheam. The tyro himself was flagging, and the soldier got near enough to brush his back with his fingertips. Then he caught hold of the strap holding the lute and wrenched it free. Wheam ran on. The instrument fell clattering to the ground. Two of the strings snapped melodiously. The human, still running hard, kicked the lute out of his path. It sailed across the street and landed with a crash, breaking into pieces.
Wheam stopped, turned and gasped.
Coilla and Haskeer shouted at him. “Come on! Leave it! Move your arse!”
The rest of the soldiers were sprinting forward and closing the gap.
“My… lute,” Wheam whispered. His eyes moved to the approaching soldier. “Bastard.”
An uncharacteristically crazed expression came to Wheam’s face. He drew his sword. Seeing this, the running soldier slowed and went for his own.
Wheam charged him, waving his blade and screaming incomprehensibly. He launched himself at the man like a wild thing, thrashing and slashing a storm. Such was the force of his attack that the trooper fell back a pace or two. He had his sword up, but purely defensively.
Coilla and Haskeer had stopped by this time. They watched Wheam laying about the soldier; and beyond, the human’s thundering group of comrades, getting nearer.
“We have to go and fetch the little fucker,” Coilla said.
Haskeer made a disturbing noise somewhere deep in his throat and balled his fists. He nodded, curtly.
They unsheathed their weapons and headed back.
Wheam’s deranged battering had the trooper retreating at a steady pace. He had no hope of overcoming the pint-sized whirlwind, but could only try to fend him off until his companions arrived.
In the event, it was in vain. Wheam landed a blow on the human’s forearm, opening a deep, copious wound. Next he thrust his blade into the man’s midriff, setting him staggering. Yelling what sounded like gibberish, though the word lute seemed to feature quite a lot, he pummelled his foe mercilessly, shredding flesh and cracking bones.
He was still hacking at the corpse when Coilla and Haskeer got there. Wheam swung round and growled at them, eyes blazing, sword raised.
“Whoa!” Coilla shouted. “It’s us!”
Wheam blinked and focused. A little of the bloodlust drained away. He looked at the sword in his hand, then down at his victim.
“Nice one,” Haskeer complimented.
“Don’t believe it,” Coilla said. “A good word for Wheam.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Haskeer grated. “I’m not giving him a fucking medal.”
“Er… the soldiers,” Wheam interrupted, pointing along the street with his blade.
They were almost upon them.
“No time to run now,” Coilla decided.
“We stand,” Haskeer agreed.
The three of them stretched out in a line across the road and braced themselves. Near enough that their features could be plainly seen, the soldiers began whooping and waving their swords.
An open wagon careered round the corner from a side street and came to an abrupt halt between the two sides. A couple more followed, loaded with rebels who hastily leapt out to take on the mob of soldiers.
Stryke was in the back of the first wagon, alongside Brelan. He gestured for Haskeer, Coilla and Wheam to jump on. They quickly clambered aboard and the wagon moved off at speed.
Coilla expelled the breath she’d been holding. “Good timing.”
“Glad you could make it,” Stryke replied. “How’d you get on?”
“Killed our share,” Haskeer informed him bluntly.
“Wheam gets the gold feather,” Coilla said. “Claimed his first kill.”
Stryke looked impressed. “Well done. You’ll find it’ll come naturally now.”
Wheam mumbled something that included the words lute and bastard.
“What?”
“Broke my lute,” Wheam grumbled. “Swine.”
Stryke gave Coilla a quizzical look.
“Human broke his thingamabob,” she explained. “Lit Wheam’s fire.”
“We’ll find you another one,” Stryke promised.
“No we fucking won’t,” Haskeer exclaimed, alarmed. He saw Stryke’s face and shut up.
“Where we going?” Coilla asked.
Brelan spoke for the first time. “Not far. A place we commandeered near the centre. There’s something you Wolverines need to know.”
He wouldn’t be drawn on what, and the rest of the journey was spent in silence through streets much emptier than they had been before the uprising took hold.
Soon they came to a large civic hall, complete with columns and surrounded by ornate iron fences. It was an old building, originating in the orcs’ distant, more glorious past. Latterly it had been taken over by the occupiers. It was testament to the progress the rebels had made that they had taken it back.
Brelan suggested that Coilla, Wheam and Haskeer clean up and feed themselves while he talked with Stryke. Reluctantly, they obeyed.
Stryke was taken along crowded corridors and past faded embellishments to a room empty but for Chillder.
“We have news,” Brelan stated without preamble.
“So spit it out,” Stryke suggested.
“We thought we’d made things bad for the humans. Now we know it. We’ve heard that Jennesta’s getting ready to flee the city.”
“How do you know this?”
“Oh, the word’s reliable. We’ve an army of informers, some in high places. They say she’s got together a bunch of military loyal to her and they’re about to make for the south coast, probably to a waiting ship. She might have left already.”
“You can’t let her get away.”
“Unfortunately, we can.”
“But —”
Brelan stilled him with a raised hand. “We can’t spare the forces. And when it comes down to it, she’s just one individual. It’s all the same to us if she’s gone or dead. She’ll still be out of our way.”
“Brelan, you can’t —”
“But you and your band are free agents. And we know you have some kind of personal grudge against Jennesta, so —”
“A grudge?”
“We’re not stupid. You know, our mother never quite believed your story, and we’ve always had doubts about where you were from and what you were doing here.”
“There’s no need to say anything, Stryke,” Chillder assured him. “We’re grateful enough to you and your band that anything that’s gone before isn’t important.”
“Will you do it?” Brelan wanted to know. “We’ve fresh horses for you, and supplies. What we can’t let you have is any of our fighters.”
“Wouldn’t want ’em. Though a guide would help.”
“We’ve maps.”
“Good enough. But I need
to talk this over with my band.”
“They’re gathered downstairs. Don’t be long. Jennesta might already have a head start.”
Stryke was taken to a large chamber that looked as though it had served as a grand feasting room in olden days. All the Wolverines were there, as were Pepperdyne and Standeven. Jugs of water and of wine had been put out for them. Haskeer was sampling the wine. Wheam was being made a fuss over by his fellow tyros, and not a few veterans.
“We’ve got to make this quick,” Stryke informed them briskly. “You been told what’s going on?” Just about everybody shook his head. “Story is Jennesta’s about to run for the coast. Might have started by now.”
“What are the rebels doing about it?” Coilla wanted to know.
“It’s down to us. If we want the mission.”
“Do we fuck,” Haskeer thundered. “Let’s go after the bitch.”
There was a general murmur of agreement.
“Anybody see why we shouldn’t?” Stryke said.
No one did.
“So what’s the plan?” Pepperdyne asked.
“Wait a minute,” Haskeer objected. “Who said you were coming along?”
“I’m not wasting time arguing about these two,” Stryke declared, waving a hand at Pepperdyne and Standeven. “Choice is between leaving them here or taking them with us. I reckon it’s better to take ’em.”
“Why?”
“They have a grievance against Jennesta too,” Coilla reminded him. “Don’t you, Jode?”
“Er… yes.” He knew this was no time to deviate from the cover story he and Standeven had concocted.
“And we know Jode’s more than handy in a scrap,” Coilla added.
“Maybe,” Haskeer granted. “But why do we need this other one? He’s no use in a fight.”
“Talk about me like I’m not here, why don’t you,” Standeven protested.
“Yeah, we will,” Stryke assured him. “I reckon I’d rather have you where I can see you, ‘specially given how the rebels feel about that thing with the intruder. Or whatever he was.”
“How many more times,” Standeven responded, “do I have to explain —”
“We’re not going through it again. You two are coming. And like I said, we’re not debating this. All of you: get yourselves ready, on the double. We leave as soon as I’ve seen Brelan and Chillder.”
“I’ll come with you,” Coilla decided.
They left the band collecting their gear.
The first thing Chillder said when they found her was, “You’re going?”
Stryke nodded.
“I have a feeling we won’t be seeing you again.”
“Who knows?” Strangely, he had a similar feeling.
“I hope we will,” Brelan offered.
“Way things are going,” Coilla reckoned, “you two are probably going to be too busy running the country.”
“Thanks in part to you. And we’re grateful.”
“Yeah, well,” Stryke told them, “let’s not get sloppy. We could lose Jennesta and be back tomorrow.”
“Perhaps.”
“I’d like to have a minute with the Vixens,” Coilla requested.
“Most of them are outside,” Brelan said.
“That all right, Stryke? I’ll be quick.”
“Go.”
She wished the twins good luck and went out.
Chillder smiled. “Whatever your true goal is Stryke, we hope you reach it.” As he was leaving she added, “That bit in the prophecy about a legendary band.”
“What of it?”
“Maybe it was true.”
12
There was only one main road leading to the southern coast. Or more accurately only one that was likely to be suitable for the small army accompanying Jennesta. The Wolverines took it.
Before they left, they learned a little more from the rebels’ spies. General Hacher, it seemed, had mysteriously disappeared. Having promoted some aide or other to fill the gap, Jennesta had promptly abandoned the successor to his fate. Of more interest to the band was that she had insisted on being transported from the city by carriage, and that supply wagons had been taken along. The Wolverines, on the other hand, travelled light.
After a quarter day’s hard riding they got a first glimpse of the sea. Their approach was on high ground, and they could look down on the bay and its tiny harbour.
“No ship,” Coilla said.
“And no Jennesta,” Stryke replied.
“Could she have got away?”
“Doubt it. There’s not been time. You’d at least expect to see a sail on the horizon. I reckon the ship she’s summoned hasn’t got here yet.”
“So where is she?”
“Dunno. Send out scouts.” He had an idea. “No, wait. Jup! Over here!”
The dwarf galloped to him. “Chief?”
“There’s no sign of her.”
“So I see.”
“Think your farsight could help? Might be quicker than searching.”
“I’ll give it a try.”
He climbed down from his horse, not without difficulty given his size, watched by an amused Haskeer. Jup flashed him an offensive gesture. Then he walked a little way from the others, knelt down and began worming his fingers into the sandy earth. The tyros and the two humans, unused to Jup’s gift, watched with interest.
“What if she has gone, Stryke?” Coilla said. “Maybe she did catch a ship. What then?”
He sighed and gave it some thought. “Maybe the rebels could help us find out where she’s gone, and maybe we could —”
“Follow her to this Peczan empire? A fucking empire, Stryke. Want to fight one of those?”
“Or we could go back and carry on with the resistance.”
“We’ve done about as much for them as we can, and you know it. And what do we do when the revolution’s over? Go home, knowing we only coped with half the mission?”
“If she’s really got away, we might have to.”
“Shit on that,” Coilla hissed.
Jup shouted and beckoned them over. Stryke gave the order to dismount, and the band went to him.
“Any luck?” Coilla wondered.
Jup nodded. He still had his hand half buried in the ground.
“Where?” Stryke said.
“A little inland and to the west.”
“Sure it’s them?”
“Well, farsight isn’t like seeing a picture somebody’s painted or a page from a book. It… it’s hard to explain. Just say that what I’m getting is like a spread of gems on a black cloth. There’s lots of ’em. That means a sizeable number of living things. Not animals either; they flare differently. And right in the middle of all that there’s a big, blood-red diamond, pulsing like… well, I don’t want to think like what.”
“That’s Jennesta?”
“I’d bet a year’s pay on it. If we got paid. It has to be them, Stryke. But…” He looked troubled.
“What?”
“There’s something else. Back the way we came, and further off, but even stronger despite the distance.”
Heads turned in the direction he’d indicated.
“What you saying? Another force?”
“Maybe. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“Could that be Jennesta,” Coilla asked, “and the bunch westward somebody else?”
“No. They have a totally different… flavour. Jennesta’s a murky diamond. Whatever this is, it’s… a whole string of them, only shining white. If I was using my eyes for this I’d be blinded.”
“Could it be natural?” Stryke said.
“Possibly. Sometimes you get a particularly strong impression from something like a large, fast-flowing river, or certain rich mineral seams. And of course we don’t really know Acurial very well; there could be any number of things that affect farsight. Still damn strange though.” He pulled his hand from the earth. “Like a second opinion from Spurral? Her gift’s at least as strong as mine.”
<
br /> Stryke pondered the offer. “That won’t tell us any more than we know, will it?”
“Unlikely.”
“Then we’ll hope it’s natural, and harmless. Forget it. It’s Jennesta we’re concerned about. Let’s head west.”
As Jup had said the distance wasn’t too great, Stryke ordered the band to lead their horses, the better to approach with stealth.
Their march took them into the lengthening shadows of evening. Until at last a pathfinder returned noiselessly to tell them the encampment was ahead.
It lay in a grassy hollow at the foot of a chalk cliff. There were guards, but they were easily dealt with. On their bellies, the band peered down at the camp from the cliff-top. There were perhaps a couple of hundred humans present, mostly uniformed. Three covered wagons stood to one side of the clearing, and a carriage, presumably Jennesta’s, was parked near its centre.
“How we going to deal with that many, Stryke?” Coilla said.
“We’ve faced bigger odds.”
“Hmm. Something wily might be better.”
“You’re our mistress of strategy. So strat.”
She smiled. “I’ll think of something.”
Stretched out full-length nearby, Spurral idly worked her fingers into the sward. She closed her eyes.
“Shit!” The ground could have been boiling hot going by the speed with which she pulled out her fingers.
“Ssshhh! Keep it down,” Jup whispered. He saw how she looked. “What is it?”
“I just used the sight. Think I picked up what you did, only this seems a hell of a lot stronger and closer. It’s really intense, Jup.”
“Where?” Stryke demanded.
She turned and pointed to the darkening plain behind them.
Stryke looked up and down the Wolverine line. “Anybody see anything out there?”
Nobody could.
“If that’s another bunch of Jennesta’s supporters,” Coilla speculated, “it could be a flanking action.”
“That makes us sitting ducks. All of you: back from the edge and down to the plain.”
They withdrew, moving furtively. They knew Jennesta would have more guards stationed around the camp, and probably patrols. The last thing they needed was to alert them.
Back on the plain, they peered into the gathering gloom.
Haskeer glared at Jup. “You sure your female’s right about this? I can’t see a fucking thing.”
ORCS: Army of Shadows Page 11